The chill of the hardwood floor seeped into my bare feet as I shuffled into the kitchen, the weight in my limbs like heavy sand, each movement a conscious effort. I didn’t bother with the lights; the darkness was a familiar comfort, a soft shroud against the harsh glare of a new day. Usually, I was the last one up, and the kitchen would already be a beacon, but today, it mirrored the gloom inside me.

I slumped onto the small island stool, trying to coax my mind awake. My gaze drifted to the window, where the cream-colored curtains had parted just enough to let a thin, defiant sliver of light pierce the gloom. It was a fine line, a fragile scar across the darkness, and I couldn’t help but see myself in it. Consumed by shadows, struggling to find my own light. I reached out, my fingers stretching towards the ethereal beam, but it was just out of reach. How fitting.